<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>carve your name into my bedpost by thelilacfield</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666726">carve your name into my bedpost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield'>thelilacfield</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there is no world where i am not yours [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Sex Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:55:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's something I want you to know. I like you, Wanda. I like you enough to want this to be something serious."</p><p>"I like you too."</p><p>"And if I want this to be something serious, then I have to be honest with you. I'm a sex worker."</p><p>That's the reason she chokes on her chai latte.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wanda Maximoff/Vision</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there is no world where i am not yours [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>carve your name into my bedpost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>A/N:</strong> Day two of AU-gust! And you can read more about the challenge and see what else is coming <strong><a href="https://augustwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/post/621653119656493056/the-list-of-prompts-was-completed-one-prompt-per#notes">here</a></strong>!</p><p>Please leave a comment if you enjoy this fic! I'm on tumblr and twitter <strong>@ mximoffromanoff</strong> if anyone wants to chat!</p><hr/><p>Stretching her arms back until she feels a satisfying click in her back, Wanda tucks her pens back into their case and slams her textbook shut, startling Sam out of his position face down in his notes. Natasha even pulls out one headphone to narrow her eyes at Wanda and say, "I thought we agreed to stay here and not let Sam go to that frat party tonight when he has a test on Monday."</p><p>"You know I take Friday nights for myself, Nat," Wanda says, pulling her jacket over her shoulders and pulling her braids out of the collar.</p><p>"You just don't wanna stay because cute library desk boy isn't here," Sam says, muffled into the pages of his notebook. Even though she shakes her head, she can still feel the colour and the heat creeping into her cheeks, and busies herself shoving her folders and textbooks and laptop into her backpack, definitely crushing the packet of cookies in the bottom to dust.</p><p>"I don't want to stay because it's Friday night and I always have my own time on Fridays," she says sternly. "And Nat is plenty intimidating enough on her own to make sure you stay here and finish your work."</p><p>"But is <em>your</em> work done?" she asks, and Wanda rolls her eyes.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," she says, flashing a quick glimpse of a page of colour-coded notes. "And now I'm going home because I have work tomorrow. If you want to study, come by the café and entertain me while I make frappuccinos for hungover frat party attendees."</p><p>"I could be one of those hungover frat party attendees, but <em>no</em>, Nat wants me to <em>study</em>," Sam says, still face-down in his notes, and Wanda giggles at the look on Natasha's face.</p><p>"Finish that chapter and we'll see about going to the frat party," she says, and Sam immediately sits upright, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "But you'll have to drive me home first so I can change. Library attire simply cannot be made to go day to night when night is a frat party."</p><p>"Well you have fun in a room full of sweaty people and lukewarm beer, I'll be in a bubble bath and going to sleep early," Wanda says, and Sam gives her a wave bordering on cheerful as she slings her backpack over one shoulder and leaves, pulling her jacket awkwardly up over her head when she steps out into the sting of the freezing rain.</p><p>The bus ride back to her apartment is a quiet one, with it being the perfect slot of time between people heading home from work and campus and people getting back on the buses to go out to parties and clubs and bars. She's finally free of college and studying and her friends trying to convince her to come out, going back to her apartment. To her room and her quiet night, and she has to cross her legs when a frisson of arousal heats her stomach. There's still two hours or so to go until she can sit down with her laptop.</p><p>She hangs her damp jacket over the back of a chair when she gets home, throwing her backpack onto the end of the couch and beginning her methodic Friday night routine. She throws some leftovers in the oven and unpacks her studying materials to replace them with her uniform and a book for her break tomorrow, saying a silent prayer that despite the frat party tonight her shift won't be too crazy. Maybe it's false hope, but just once the hungover students might stay in and order delivery rather than think dragging themselves down the streets in sock and slides to Starbucks will help.</p><p>To keep herself from checking how long until the livestream starts, she reads while she eats her dinner, pouring herself a glass of wine without a single ounce of wincing guilt. Nebula is on a night shift and then staying at Mantis' instead of coming home, it's Friday night, and she wants to be ready. She chooses the bath bomb she's going to use for her long linger in the tub afterwards, lights a candle on her bedside table, and is finally sitting in bed when nine o'clock rolls around, scrolling through Instagram stories while she waits for the page to load.</p><p>Sam has posted a story with Natasha at McDonalds, both of them now covered in glitter and clearly on their way to the frat party, and there's no spark of jealousy in her chest. She wouldn't risk a frat party before a nine am shift anyway, but Friday nights are sacred. This is the rare one when neither Nebula or Mantis are in the apartment, hanging over each other being too sweet for words, and she won't have to keep herself quiet.</p><p>The page eventually loads, and she's already slipping a hand beneath the waistband of her shorts as the familiar pale chest loads onto her screen. The live chat is already busy, the tiny icon at the corner of the screen showing that almost eight hundred people are in the room already. People like her who wait for the link to pop up and follow it every Friday night. Hundreds of people who bail on their friends and demand privacy to watch a stranger who never shows his face masturbate online.</p><p>Not that she thinks of it like that. When she thinks of it like that, there's connotations of sweaty bearded men in raincoats staring at girls, and it's entirely detrimental to her libido. Her time watching a stranger is different, because this man makes it different. She doesn't know his name, obviously, but she recites his username like a prayer, always happy whenever she sees a notification from her private Twitter account from him. Those photos from the shoulders down have gotten her through long nights waiting for the Friday night cam shows.</p><p>She relaxes into the rhythm of the usual show. There's never many bells and whistles with him, just the soft lighting on his pale skin and the gorgeous way he moves. It's like poetry, and she feels like some pretentious English major smoking a thin cigarette when she thinks that. But it's true, when she watches him. It's sensual, not like the porn she watched and wondered why she got off to before she found live camming. When she stumbled on him, that was it for her. She can't imagine ever straying to another cammer, or back to traditionally made porn. The professionals are too cavalier for her, all those half-baked plotlines just to lead to someone being fucked in an unlikely position that is only achievable by someone with a very expensive yoga instructor and possibly some missing bones.</p><p>He's different. She's watched his shows every week for so long, living for those weeks where there's a surprise extra show, that she can time her touching herself with him. She can hear the change in his breathing, louder when she doesn't have to wear headphones, and move against her own fingers, free hand holding her upright as she gets closer and staying seated gets harder. She doesn't want to look away from her laptop screen, wants to be sure she's looking at him when she comes.</p><p>In the afterglow, she thinks about him. She wonders what he looks like above the shoulders, if he's as tall and lanky as the camera makes him look. God help her, she imagines curling up to him when they've just had real sex, when she's felt exactly what it's like to have him inside her rather than imagine it, when she's made him choke out her name riding him in long, slow rolls of her hips. She imagines him kissing the top of her head and whispering her name.</p><p>Then she sits up, sweaty and light-headed, and pulls the laptop back towards her. She donates her usual ten dollars under her hastily-made account, and leaves a short <strong>Great show, thank you so much. Can't wait for next week!</strong> in the chat before she logs off. Head spinning with all the post-orgasmic endorphins flying around her body, she gets herself another glass of wine and goes to run a hot bath.</p><p>When she wakes up at six am to swipe on eyeliner and trail to work in her battered trainers and serve the inevitable flood of hungover students their precious frappuccinos, she's still thinking about the breathy way he moaned, "<em>Harder</em>, sweetheart."</p><p>She's still wishing she could see the expression on his face when he comes.</p><hr/><p>She's the first of her little golden trio to the library on this particular Friday, espresso from the campus Starbucks outlet in hand. And she's barely stepped into the threshold of the room before the completely adorable desk worker is stepping up to her and saying a sweet, "Our heating is out. It's your choice whether to stay or not, but we have blankets for your convenience and the coffee machine on the second floor is free of charge until we get this problem fixed."</p><p>"That's great, maybe there'll actually be enough seats that I don't have to hover for twenty minutes before I can sit with my friends," she says, and he laughs. The breath of it ruffles the heavy lock of golden hair that hangs in his eyes, and she shifts where she's standing, her heart fluttering in her chest.</p><p>Who gave him the right to be so adorable? It shouldn't be allowed, the way he walks around the library all long legs and gorgeous cheekbones. He shouldn't be allowed to have his hair falling forward and making her long to run her fingers through it, his cute little nose twitch to hitch his glasses back up. He can't just walk around in the most impressive collection of sweaters and cardigans she's ever seen and just expect her to not develop a massive crush on him.</p><p>"I apologise that it takes a heating malfunction for us to have enough seating," he says, and she can feel her eyes becoming all shiny and swoony. She kicks herself for it, but he's cute. He's so cute he makes her think about cheesy romantic comedy music playing in the background of their too-brief conversations. "Unfortunately, this is a college library. We can't exactly kick out people who come here to study."</p><p>"I'd ask you to look more carefully for the people who only come here to drink shitty vending machine coffee and watch Netflix on the good Wi-Fi, but since I do that I wouldn't want to get kicked out," she says, and he laughs again. She's made him laugh twice in the space of five minutes, and it puts an absolutely stupid level of pride into her smile. She's annoying herself, honestly.</p><p>"Maybe I'd turn a blind eye if it was you, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and her name in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. Oh to have him in her bed, to peel back the layers of sweater and make him sigh her name like that.</p><p>It would be much easier if she only wanted sex. That's worked out well for her in the past. It's the stupid romantic notions he makes her think that are the problem, even if it does mean she's miles ahead on her work from all the hours spent in the library just to be in his proximity. It's wanting to hold his hand and kiss in the rain and borrow his sweaters to smell like him on the way to class. It's thinking about coffee dates and takeaways on Saturday nights. It's thinking about his arms in a wanting to be held in them way, instead of a wanting to pin his wrists to the bed and take him way.</p><p>She's never thought of herself as someone who craves romance. She's always wanted sex more, a warm body and a gasp of her name. But he makes her want lazy Sunday mornings and violin strings. And she feels how silly she's being when she tucks her hair behind one shoulder and looks at him from beneath her lashes as she says, "Well I wouldn't want to to lose your job for me, Vision."</p><p>"Perhaps you're right," he says, and smiles even wider at her, sending her heart into a strange rhythm and her stomach into a full triple somersault. "But please make yourself comfortable here. I do notice that you always come in on a Friday afternoon."</p><p>"None of the three of us have classes, and we try to get work done for different reasons," she says. "Sam likes to party all weekend. Nat always goes upstate to see her boyfriend at weekends. And I have a weekend job."</p><p>"I know," he says softly. "At Starbucks, right? It's near my place. Sometimes my best friend and her girlfriend and I will come in, but I never like to disturb you while you're working."</p><p>"But I'm disturbing you," she says, and he smiles in that way that makes her think about lying next to him in bed. About seeing the sun rise in his smile.</p><p>"I work in the student library, Wanda, it's hardly the Saturday morning shift at a Starbucks in a student neighbourhood," he says, and she shrugs. "You always seem to be making frappuccinos whenever I walk in."</p><p>"People do seem to think a frappuccino with extra sugar will somehow magically cure their hangovers," she says, and he laughs. "At least I get free coffee to get me through it." Shifting on her heeled boots, she says, "You should come over and say hi next time. I'd give you a discount."</p><p>"That's very sweet of you," he says, and she has to firmly push down the voice that sounds distinctly like a smirking Sam telling her that she should show him exactly how <em>sweet</em> she can be. "I should let you go and find a table. Please don't hesitate to come find me if you need any help. I'm keeping the blankets behind the counter with my little space heater, just so they'll be warm."</p><p>"I'll be sure to ask if I need you to warm me up." It's a pick-up line. An extremely blatant one. And she regrets it as soon as it's out of her mouth. She walks away with a flush already rising in her cheeks, and sets her coffee cup down so hard flecks of liquid burst out of the tiny hole in the lid to stain the white stripe of her scarf.</p><p>Natasha and Sam arriving in a clatter and an offer of some of their snacks is a welcome distraction from her humiliation. She can stop thinking about how she might have just scared off a genuinely sweet and handsome guy and focus on quizzing Sam so ferociously that he gets annoyed and stomps off to buy a watered-down hot chocolate from the vending machine. Then comes stomping back because the machine is out of hot chocolate mix, while Natasha shakes with silent laughter on the other side of the table.</p><p>She says goodbye to her friends at eight o'clock, moping home when she doesn't at least see Vision sitting at the desk on her way out. It's some other person, who gives her a tight, polite smile on the way out that she barely returns. She orders Chinese takeout on the bus home, annoyed with herself, and almost thinks about not watching the cam show tonight. <em>Almost</em>.</p><p>When she does sit down on her bed, unfortunately with the door locked and her headphones in tonight because Nebula and Mantis are having a double dinner date with Nebula's sister and her boyfriend in the front room, she opens the site to the show having already started. It's the first time since she found this specific cammer that she's been late, and it makes her feel weirdly guilty. She has to get even more into it this week to make up for it.</p><p>Luckily, it seems that he is extra into it this week too. He's pulled out one of his toys, and she's transfixed by the sight of him fucking himself slowly. The chat seems to be loving it if the constant blur at the side of the screen is anything to go on, and she's close to the edge before she means to be. She has to slow down, make herself wait, sinking into the sound of his breathy moans. He's even more vocal than usual, and she nearly comes on the spot when he breathes, "You fuck me so good, baby."</p><p>When she looks back on it in the morning, she'll think that she imagined it. She won't believe her own mind, because it was fairly scrambled by the frankly blinding orgasm she'd just had when it happened. She convinced herself it wasn't real, left her usual ten dollar tip and nice comment in the chat and closed the window before she went to interrupt the double date making herself a cup of tea.</p><p>But in the moment, she swears that he comes he almost says someone's name. A name that starts with <strong>W</strong>.</p><hr/><p>"You're driving me insane." Wanda looks up from her notes to Natasha staring at her across the desk. The proximity of finals is making her mean, a caffeine haze from too many espressos glazing her eyes, and she rolls her eyes at Wanda's confused look. "Staring at the desk all moony-eyed is not going to make him magically ask you out. You're not telepathic."</p><p>"Imagine if you were!" Sam says, eyes brightening at the prospect. "He would've fucked you up against the shelves a long time ago."</p><p>"<em>Sam</em>!" she hisses, glancing around for Vision. Thank God, he's occupied with a confused freshman, and he didn't hear her stupid friend. "That's not what I want from him!"</p><p>"Oh, you wanna fuck <em>him</em> against the shelves?" he asks, and she glares at him. "Kidding. I know you want the wedding bells and white picket fences with him. You've said enough times after too much wine."</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>," she hisses, feeling the scarlet blush creeping up her neck.</p><p>"You should just ask him out," Sam says. So casually. As if they aren't talking about a crush she's nursed for months, blown out of proportion in her head. Like she didn't blatantly flirt with him a few weeks ago and still notices how he won't quite meet her eyes anymore. "Seriously. It can be your Christmas present to me!"</p><p>"What do you get out of me asking him out?" she asks, and he grins.</p><p>"Not having to listen to you wax lyrical about how he hitches his glasses back up his nose."</p><p>"Bold of you to assume I'd stop doing that if I was officially his girlfriend," she says, and Sam laughs loud enough to attract attention. The very attention she's trying not to bring to their table, Vision's sky blue gaze landing on her.</p><p>She has to very nonchalantly walk up to the table with the book she's been studying out of, and she can see he's getting ready to leave. He's wrapped a lovely grey scarf around himself and his blue sweater, but he still stops and smiles at her. "Do you need my help before I clock out, Ms. Maximoff?" he asks sweetly.</p><p>"I just want to check this out," she says. "And the scanner thing was acting up again. I need to leave soon but I can finish notes on my break tomorrow."</p><p>"You work so hard," he says gently. "You should take some time for yourself."</p><p>"I just said I'm leaving!" she protests, and he smiles faintly, shaking his head. And then the fateful words tumble out of her. Every plan she's ever made to ask him out, each more elaborate than the last, goes up in smoke when she says, "If you're leaving too, why don't we go get dinner? Just us?"</p><p>He straightens up so hastily that his head almost hits the sign above his desk, and she winces. "Dinner?" he asks, and she nods mutely. "Just us?" Another nod. "Are you asking me on a date, Ms. Maximoff?"</p><p>"You can say no if you want to, it's just...an idea, and I...I've liked you for a while." She shuffles her foot along the ground, looking at the grubby carpet, and says, "I thought it was obvious."</p><p>"<em>Wanda</em>." He so rarely uses her first name that she looks up instantly, and his face has softened and brightened. He's glowing, suffused with a light like the sunrise, and she flushes herself just looking at him. "I'd <em>love</em> to. But I...I actually have a shift at another job on a Friday night. And I know you usually work Saturday mornings-"</p><p>"Not this week!" she says hastily. "One of my co-workers is going to a friend's engagement party, so I swapped her my Saturday morning for working late tonight. I'll be dealing with the drunk people instead of the hungover ones."</p><p>"Well, that's perfect," he says softly. "So how about brunch tomorrow? I know this little independent spot, the owner is lovely and the portions are huge."</p><p>"I <em>love</em> brunch!" she says. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but she can't really be blamed for that when he smiles like that. "So...eleven tomorrow? You can come pick me up?"</p><p>"We'll be walking, I'm afraid," he says, and she just smiles.</p><p>She's walking on cloud nine for the rest of the evening. Even a gaggle of drunk girls coming into her work a few minutes before close and all making ridiculously elaborate orders can't dampen her spirits. On her break, she jumps onto the cam show and leaves a twenty dollar tip instead of ten, even though she can't watch the stream this week.</p><p>Her bed greets her with dreams of the perfect date. When she wakes up it's to birds singing and sparse winter sunlight, and she practically dances in and out of several outfits before she finds Nebula and Mantis drinking coffee on the balcony despite the cold - like crazy people - and asks them their opinion. She ends up in red, her signature colour, in the form of a roll-neck sweater dress. Nebula gives her an approving smile when she eventually leaves the apartment, black coat and black beanie over her ensemble, the heels of her knee-high boots tapping down the concrete stairwell.</p><p>Vision is waiting for her on the street, his smile brighter than the watery sunlight. She rushes to his side, and when he reaches down to twine their fingers together as they walk it feels so natural. She's giddy with it, smiling at everyone they pass even though no one smiles back, and when he ushers her through the door into a little café with duck egg blue walls it feels like the start of a romantic comedy. It feels like some saccharine song should be playing under their montage. Him pulling her chair out for her, the glances they sneak at each other while they read the menus, the waitress who gives him a knowing look when she comes to take their orders. It's all so utterly innocent and sweet and everything she wanted from a date with him.</p><p>Or, at least, it's innocent and sweet until he gives her a serious look over his plate of French toast and says, "There's something I want you to know." And she shifts in her seat, feeling the need to sit up straight at the serious note to his tone. "I like you, Wanda. I like you enough to want this to be something serious."</p><p>"I like you too," she says, soft and sweet and everything she's not.</p><p>"And if I want this to be something serious, then I have to be honest with you," he says. And of all the things she expects him to say, the last one she expects is, "I'm a sex worker." That's the reason she chokes on her chai latte.</p><p>"Like a <em>stripper</em>?" she asks when the waitress has brought her a glass of water and she's stopped feeling like a lung is going to come flying out of her mouth, and Vision just chuckles.</p><p>"No, not a stripper," he says. "I cam. I do live shows. I do it anonymously, so I don't use my real name or show my face. I just always intended to be open about the fact that I do it and I enjoy it with any potential partner." He gives her a long look and says, "It's why I couldn't have dinner with you last night. I cam on Friday nights."</p><p>A horrible chill of dread drips down her spine and she asks, "Friday nights?" He nods. "And you don't show your face? Nothing above the shoulders?" He nods again, confusion furrowing his brow in a distractingly cute way, and she groans, sinking her head forward into her hands. "Vision, I...I <em>watch </em>you."</p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p>"I found you from Tumblr," she says miserably. "I was just browsing a tag and saw a link and...<em>fuck</em>. You might have seen me in the chat. My handle is stupid, it's this superhero I used to play in games when I was a kid."</p><p>"What is it?" He doesn't sound angry, and he hasn't gotten up to walk out yet. She looks up at him and his face is open and curious.</p><p>And she admits, "It's <strong>scarletwitch</strong>," in a horrified whisper. She can't quite match the handsome Vision sitting opposite her, in his buttoned-up cardigan and heavy glasses, with the man she watches get himself off on camera every Friday night.</p><p>"I do know you," he says, very quietly. "You tip ten dollars every week. You always leave a thank you. You...you tipped <em>twenty</em> dollars last night."</p><p>"I was in a good mood," she says. "This guy that I'd had a crush on for months said yes when I asked him out."</p><p>She expects there to be a long, awkward silence at the very least. She really doesn't expect Vision to lean across the table and kiss her. He kisses like she imagined he would, so softly and sweetly that it leaves her breathless when he breaks away and leans back in their booth, colour staining his cheeks. "It's sad you missed the show last night," he says. "I was also in a particularly good mood."</p><p>"I thought...a few weeks ago, that day I flirted with you, I thought it was an especially good show," she says, and he flushes deeper.</p><p>He lowers his voice to a whisper and breathes, "I almost said your name during the show that night. I was thinking about you."</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," she whispers, having to hold herself very still to not react to that tidbit of information in a way very inappropriate for such a wholesome public place. "Vision, I...thank you for telling me. I do want this whole thing between us to be serious."</p><p>"So do I," he says, and takes her hand. His palm is warm and his fingers long twining between hers, and she smiles at the easy intimacy of their tangled hands resting on the table next to their coffee cups. "So I should tell you that I...I don't want to have sex right away." The tips of his ears turn to flaming red, but he says, "Because sex is...it's work to me too. And I don't want it to feel like just another day when I'm with a partner. So I want to wait until we're very sure of our emotional connection before we do it. I want to know how we feel."</p><p>"That's okay, sweetheart," she says softly, and he softens at the nickname. "I can wait."</p><hr/><p>It's almost exactly ten o'clock on a Friday night, and, rather than being in her bed with her hand down her pyjama shorts, Wanda is standing at Vision's door with a takeaway bag under her arm. When she asked earlier he said he wanted Italian, and the heat of the containers of pasta in the bag is starting to get a little unbearable where it's pressed against her side. At least his building is nice enough that there's a little awning to shelter her from the rain.</p><p>The buzzer finally sounds to let her in, and she goes flying up the stairs to her boyfriend of exactly one month and nine day's arms. He's warm and flushed and pliant, robe tied loosely around him falling open to show a triangle of pale chest, smiling against her lips when she kisses him in greeting, and she reaches up to gently flick his hair out of his eyes and trace her fingertips over his cheekbone. "How was the show?" she asks, and he gives her a dopey smile.</p><p>"I missed my regular tipper," he says, and she scoffs, moving past him into the apartment to find them plates and open a bottle of wine.</p><p>"I bought you dinner, sweetheart, I think that's a better tip," she says. He crosses the room to wrap an arm around her and kiss her again, and she practically melts into him, how warm and secure and safe he is. "C'mon, go put some clothes on. I kept my day clothes on instead of changing into sweats, the least you could do is take off the robe."</p><p>"We're still waiting, remember?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes and bats him away to go change.</p><p>He returns in a soft cashmere sweater, the pale yellow that looks so lovely with his hair and eyes, and she plates their food out on the living room floor like a picnic. Soft jazz is swirling from his record player, and she curls up to him and his sweet scene while they eat, tucking herself into his side. "I thought about you tonight," he says softly, and she grins. "It's hard to not say what I'm thinking of."</p><p>"Maybe you can tell me next time I'm home alone," she says. They may not have physically had sex yet, but there's been a fair amount of sexting. Neither of them are blushing virgins, and she respects the idea that physical intimacy should wait until they're both completely sure. But there's nothing wrong with a few messages to warm her up on a cold night.</p><p>"You're the sweetheart I'm talking about when I say it on camera," he says, and she smiles and turns his head to kiss him. When she pulls away, there's a shadow to his face, and he asks, "Are you still okay with waiting? I know it seem silly when you've already seen me naked, and we've sexted before, so-"</p><p>"I know you'll be worth waiting for, Vizh," she says, and he smiles, his eyes soft and bright in the way she adores. "Besides, the longer we wait the more time there is to plan the most perfect night."</p><p>"I have all sorts of plans," he teases, and she smiles. "Candles. Rose petals. Lingerie."</p><p>"What makes you think I own lingerie?"</p><p>"On me, darling, not on you."</p><p>She stares at him wide-eyed for a second, then says, "Are you telling me you own <em>lingerie</em> and you've never worn it on camera?" He nods, and she shakes her head. "Wasted potential, sweetheart."</p><p>"I think there are some things," he says, drawing her into his lap, their food forgotten, "that are for my girlfriend's eyes only."</p><p>She can't be sure which one of them moves in for the kiss first. But she kisses him breathless. Just a taste of what he'll get when she's finally alone with him in a double bed.</p><p>She'll show him the true meaning of, "<em>Harder</em>, sweetheart."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>